


Mr. Brightside

by AeveeItazura



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeveeItazura/pseuds/AeveeItazura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After “The Silent Partners”, Billy finally had enough of White’s crap and moved out and White was doing just fine without him. Or was he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Brightside

It’s been three months, two months and five days since Billy moved out, but who was counting? The ever popular Pete White wasn’t. They were just partners of a little company that was thought up after a night of binging booze and cartoons. Makes no difference to him. It’s for the best, anyway. They have different life goals, anyway.

Billy can go and be famous in New York or where ever he is. He will sit right here and tell old ladies how to sign into FaceBook in between Six String Samurai sessions and drinking with Rusty and Orpheus. He could live without the snide comments from Shore Leave about Billy “breaking up” with him, but what does that dick know?

He’s doing just fine. Sure, he’s woken up with a few blisters after drinking too much and passing out in the sun. And yeah, he might have been more sarcastic then usual. He might even have picked a few fights here and there, but what of it? He was doing perfectly fine on his own. He was even helping Rusty fix up his security system in preparation for that home school prom thing he’s planning for Hank and Dean. If he wasn’t doing just fine, he wouldn’t have volunteered to DJ, right?

Not like he misses his friend or anything. It’s not like he felt like he was going to cry when he realized Billy refused to make eye contact with him whenever they were in the same room now. Sergeant Hatred was wrong about them being best friends. They were partners, and now they aren’t. Simple as that. How many times does he have to explain it to Sergeant Hatred before he’ll believe it? That’s probably him right now, knocking on the door, impatient as ever.

Peeling himself off the couch, he looks over himself quickly, smoothing his hair back in place. He was asleep on the couch because he was too lazy to go to all the way to the bedroom, not because he could still smell Billy’s after shave on the pillows in the bedroom and drunk him couldn’t deal with it. Rubbing his hand over his jaw, the faint stubble can wait for when he feels like shaving. He doesn’t need a mirror to show him how blood shot his eyes are right now.

Opening the door, he is surprised to see Billy standing on the porch. His heart skips a beat. Okay, maybe he missed having somebody to talk to. He barely has time to realize Billy is holding a crumpled letter in his hand before the smaller man leaps into his arms. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around him.

“Uhh, what brings you around here?” Pete asks.  
“What do you mean?” Billy queries. He waves the letter in his hand in White’s face. “Your letter, duh.”

“L-letter?” White stutters. He doesn’t remember writing any letter.  
He lets Billy down. He squints his eyes, looking at the letter that is in Billy’s hand. It looks like his hand writing on the front, but he can’t tell. He probably needs glasses or something by now. One of the perks of being an albino. Looking at Billy, arms crossed, letter still in plain view, he feels a wave of nausea hit him. Hard. Covering his mouth with one hand, he holds up an index finger and runs to the bathroom.

He loudly retches, barely reaching the toilet in time. He can taste the bile scorching his throat as he expels last night’s dinner. Enchiladas and tequila are nowhere near as good coming up as going down. Groaning and gasping quietly, he flushes the toilet, leaning his forehead against the cold porcelain bowl. He almost misses the nose bleeds from the blow compared to this. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, this happens.

Obviously, Billy is here to tear him a new one over whatever he wrote in that letter. He can’t spend all day hiding in the bathroom, unfortunately. Maybe Billy will knock him out and he can sleep through this hangover. He picks himself off the floor and shakily heads back to the living room.

“Sorry about that,” he says, wiping his mouth, on his sleeve. “Enchiladas and too much tequila. Not a big deal.”

He tries to laugh it off weakly. Billy isn’t laughing. Billy is trying not to look concerned, but is failing. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t have a problem, period.

“So, this letter I sent,” he says, leaning against the kitchen wall.

Looking at his coat, he probably should take it off before the beating. Blood is a bitch to launder out, after all. Calmly, he unbuttons the coat. Shrugging off the white jacket, he folds it in half and places it on the counter. Looking at Billy, he crosses his arms defensively. Why is he looking so confused? He’s not the one in the dark here.

“What?” he asks.  
“Why…did you take your jacket off?” Billy asks.  
“I don’t want to get blood on it,” he answers. “You know bleach makes me gag, and vinegar doesn’t work on blood, remember?”

“Why would you get blood on it?” Billy asks. Billy looks at the letter, the pieces falling into place. “ You think I’m going to kick your ass because of this letter?”  
“Well, yeah,” he says. He tilts his head in confusion. “Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place?”

To his surprise, Billy laughs. He waits for Billy’s laughing fit to abate. Wiping his remaining eye, Billy smiles at him. He gulps loudly, his knees going weak on him. Billy walks up to him and hands him the letter before going to sit on the couch. Holding the letter, he reads it to himself.

Ho-ly crap. With it closer, he can tell that it is definitely his handwriting. Otherwise, he never would have believed that he wrote this. He knows that he meant every word on that piece of paper, tequila be damned. He plops down on the couch next to Billy, wordlessly handing him back the letter.

“So,” Billy says. “What do you wanna do now?”  
“Honestly?” he says, leaning back into the couch. He turns to face Billy. “Nothing.”

He flinches as Billy starts angrily trying to string two coherent words together. Should have guessed that would happen. He places a hand over his face, waiting for Billy to calm down. It takes a while, but Billy eventually settles into a quiet seethe.

“You send me a letter reeking of booze,” Billy says between gritted teeth. “Declaring you’ve been desperately in love with me since we’ve met, and you don’t want to do anything about it?”

“Billy,” he says, exasperated. “I meant right now. We’ve got to think this out. We’ve both got way too much to do right now to give it the attention it deserves, all right? We’ll talk AFTER home school prom, promise.”

Billy sighs heavily, crossing his arms. He stands up, rubbing his arms absentmindedly. He puts his white coat back on, smoothing the front of any wrinkles. It’s a rare time when he’s got a good point. They’re talking again and that is good enough in his book. Course, now that the cat’s out of the bag, it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of fun, now would it? Grinning, he goes to the couch and picks Billy up. Squawking indignantly, he silences Billy’s protests with a kiss. Instantly, Billy stops his protests, stunned at his boldness.

“I have wanted to do that for years,” he says.  
“You taste like hand sanitizer,” Billy grumbles.  
“Don’t ruin the moment,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Billy playfully punches his arm. He yelps in mock pain and tickles behind Billy’s ear. Billy squirms in his arms, just as ticklish as he remembers. They fall over onto the ground, laughing. With Billy laying on his chest, he sighs happily. All right, he was a miserable jerk without Billy around. He isn’t able to admit that he should have tried harder when Billy moved out right now, but he’ll find a way to make it up to him in the mean time. The Pink Pilgrim will always finds a way to make the chips land in his favor.

**Author's Note:**

> Something from a year ago and something I am still proud of, silly name be damned.


End file.
